Thus I Stand on the Brink
by RoaringMice
Summary: Trip, Malcolm, and hope.
1. Chapter 1

_Warnings: Some swearing, mostly mild_

x-x

"Get down!" Malcolm shouted over the roar of weapons fire.

Trip ducked behind a pillar as chunks of plaster sprayed from it. Heart beating madly, he glanced at the doorway through which the captain and Corporal Chang had just escaped. Malcolm was standing in the entrance, weapon drawn. He caught Trip's eye and waved him forward.

As Malcolm stepped into the room and started shooting, Trip took advantage of the covering fire and dashed for the doorway. Projectiles spun past him and hit the ground at his feet as he ran. He threw himself through the opening and crashed headfirst into Captain Archer.

"Up, up, up!" Chang said hurriedly, yanking Trip to his feet beside Archer.

"But Malcolm -" Trip said frantically.

"He'll follow," Chang said. He pushed Trip and the captain in a mad rush down the hallway. They sprinted to the next doorway where Chang thrust out a hand, forcefully stopping Trip's momentum. "Wait," Chang whispered. He peered around the edge of the opening, scouting to see if there were any armed Relakians in the area. Trip could see no one - just a large, leafy courtyard. Chang nodded and waved them forward.

Trip returned the nod and took a step into the courtyard. He felt something tug at his cuff.

The blast spun him, then threw him against the far wall.

x-x

_I know this chapter was short, but ending it here was a perfect evil cliffhanger!  
_

_Please review and let me know what you think of this so far. Thanks. _


	2. Chapter 2

_To make up for the short entry chapter, this one is a bit longer. _

x-x

Trip stood beside Malcolm's bed, staring down at his friend's far-too-still body. Trip could hear the soft beeping of the monitors, the hiss and push of the respirator as it breathed for his friend. He reached out a tentative hand, but pulled back before it touched Malcolm's arm.

Malcolm was so damned still; the only movement the steady rise and fall of his chest. A tube taped to his cheek forced open dry lips and stood in stark relief against his pale face.

With the light above them, and the rest of sickbay in shadow, it was almost as if he and Malcolm were the only people left on Enterprise. It was the first time in a while that he and Malcolm were alone together, and it figured: here they finally were, but Malcolm was totally out of it, while he himself was... Trip shook his head, warding off those thoughts.

It was his fault that their friendship was in the state that it was. After his sister had been killed, he'd pushed Malcolm away. Malcolm had only been trying to help - even then, Trip knew that was the case, but he'd pushed him away anyway. It was like he couldn't help himself. And now they were... Well, they were still friends, but it wasn't quite the same as it had been. As he wanted it to be again.

He hadn't found a way to fix it yet. And now, maybe it was too late.

When Malcolm had told Archer that he had concerns about the Relakians, the captain hadn't listened. Trip felt his mouth twitch in a frown. Well, the captain had certainly listened to Malcolm, but he hadn't heard him. It's like he didn't get it, as if being that mistrustful went against his character. All the Xindi experience still hadn't completely crushed Jon's enthusiasm and trustful nature. In a way, Trip was glad for that, but -

Thank God the Relakians were as poor marksmen as they were engineers.

Now Trip struggled to stop an entirely inappropriate smile. "Too bad they were decent bomb makers, though," he said, almost under his breath. Now he did smile. While he wasn't sure what had gotten Malcolm in the end, he certainly remembered what had caused his own demise. They'd caught him with a trip wire. It was almost ironic, or at least a bad pun, that it was his namesake that got him in the end.

Trip had woken up here in sickbay, if you could call it waking. It was more like he was on the planet one minute, and next thing he knew, he'd been here. Malcolm had been there, too, although he'd quickly been moved into surgery. Chang had been in and out, his injuries confined to minor cuts and bruises. And he'd seen Jon, who physically was suffering only muscle strain, although his face clearly showed his distress.

From Chang and Archer's rushed conversations with Phlox, Trip knew Malcolm had been found some hours later, pretty much exactly where they'd left him. Of course, that had only been possible once Chang had finally reached Enterprise and gotten some help.

And now Trip was in sickbay, unsure of exactly how much time had passed. He figured it had to have been a day, which meant this was New Year's Eve. New Year's was usually a time to take stock of the year that had just passed, and make plans for the future. It was a chance for new beginnings. But this year - this year he wasn't so sure.

Trip looked down at himself. He held his hands up and turned them over, examining them front and back. After a moment, he shook his head. Giving up, he dragged the nearest chair over to Malcolm's bedside and sat.

He had done that several times since he'd woken in sickbay - checking himself for injuries. Not a mark on him. There never was. But he remembered...

Trip closed his eyes as the blast threw him against the wall. There had been nothing after that, at least not at first, not when he'd first woken up. But now... Now that he thought about it, images came to him: of debris falling over his body as the wall collapsed; of smoke and a cloud of rubble swirling up from the floor, filling the large space in seconds; of being unable to see, the courtyard black as night despite the bright sun above. There were shouts - Archer, Chang, their voices growing increasing urgent.

It was as if Trip was somehow seeing the scene from outside himself, in a series of disjointed images: Jon covered in dust, coughing, lifting a sleeve to his mouth. Jon and Chang digging frantically. Chang trying to contact Enterprise. The look on Jon's face when he finally uncovered Trip's hand. Jon's fingers as they fumbled for a pulse.

He could see his own hand in the rubble, and Jon squatting beside it...

Trip opened his eyes to find sickbay dark around him. The ventilator tube had been removed from Malcolm's mouth, and his friend was breathing on his own.

At first, this sort of thing had freaked him out - missing time like this - but now he was resigned to it. Little chunks of time; skipping moments, minutes, hours. He might think he had fallen asleep, if he didn't know better. But he did know better.

Trip heard a soft groan and Malcolm's eyes fluttered open. A medic came by almost immediately, brushing past Trip without a glance. She raised the lights slightly and checked each of Malcolm's monitors, speaking to him all the while in soft phrases. Raising the head of his bed, she gave his arm a soft pat before she moved away.

Trip stood from his chair and stepped close to Malcolm's bedside. "Hey," Trip said, keeping his voice low. "Welcome back. How are you feeling?"

Malcolm blinked and looked up, his focus falling on Trip. At first he looked surprised, but after a moment, his expression softened. "Everyone all right?" he rasped in the near-whisper that was a side effect of the respirator.

Trip smiled in relief. It was so typical of Malcolm to ask after the others, rather than about himself.

"Yeah, they're all fine," Trip replied. His fingers moved towards Malcolm's arm as if of their own volition, but he pulled back at the last second.

"Good," Malcolm replied. "How did they...?"

Knowing Malcolm was probably having trouble talking - Trip could remember the feel of his own throat after having been on a respirator - he jumped in. "They managed to escape. Barely even hurt," he added with a wry smile.

Malcolm reached out with a shaky hand, the IV line snaking out from underneath the splint holding it in place. "Are you all right?"

Trip stared down at Malcolm's hand. Something must have shown on his face, because Malcolm was not normally one for the touchy-feely. "I'm not sure." Trip looked at him.

"You're not -?" Malcolm struggled to sit up, his gaze burning into Trip. "What do you mean?"

Trip reached for the bed's controls and raised the head until his friend nodded. Seeing the obvious concern in Malcolm's eyes, Trip decided to be frank. "I think I'm dead."

Malcolm frowned. "What?" he mouthed, a wrinkle creasing his forehead.

"Listen," Trip said quickly, heart pounding, already regretting what he'd said. He took a step backwards. "You only just woke up, and to be honest, you already look like you could use a nap."

Malcolm pursed his lips in response, and Trip could tell from his expression that he wasn't buying it.

Trip turned and took a few steps away. Then he turned again and stomped back to the bedside. He slumped onto the chair with a sigh. How the hell could he explain? He knew it sounded crazy, but at the same time, he knew - he simply knew that it was true. Just like he knew that he couldn't touch Malcolm without... He wasn't sure what, but something would happen. And whatever that "something" was, he wasn't quite ready for it. Not yet.

Hands clenched tightly together, he looked up at Malcolm, only to find his friend staring at him expectantly. "Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. He leaned forward. "I died down on that planet." When Malcolm opened his mouth to interrupt, Trip ran over him. "No, I mean it." He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "There was an explosion, and I..." He ran a rough hand over his eyes, leaving them closed. "I remember hitting the wall. It didn't even hurt. Not much. Not after..." He opened his eyes and stared at Malcolm. "I died there, Malcolm."

Malcolm frowned, his expression showing his worry.

Trip gave him a weary half-smile. "You think I'm nuts, right? And believe me, I know what it sounds like, but..." How to explain the sense of absolute certainty? He knew. There was not a doubt in his mind.

"Then why are you here?" Malcolm whispered.

That caught Trip by surprise. "What?"

"Why are you here?" Malcolm repeated. "If you are..." he hesitated a moment, "...dead. Then why are you here?"

Trip sat back in his chair and shut his eyes for a moment. Why was he here? If he were going to "be" anywhere, he'd have thought it would be Florida. Or if it was going to be Enterprise, at least engineering. So why sickbay with Malcolm? "Good question," he murmured.

x-x

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	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for all your reviews!_

x-x

Next Trip knew, the lights were bright around him, and Malcolm was across the room, sitting up in bed and talking to Phlox. Trip realised that he'd moved: he'd just been sitting beside Malcolm's bed, but now he was he was standing just inside the doors. His heartbeat filled his ears and he took a step backwards. Trying to calm himself, he took a series of slow, deep breaths, letting each one out with a clearly audible hiss. After a few moments, feeling more settled, he walked a bit closer.

"You should be released in a day or so," Phlox said with his usual smile. "You're making good progress."

And even from across the room, Trip could see that Malcolm was. Most of the monitors were gone, although the IV line still snaked into the back of Malcolm's hand. Trip almost smiled.

As Phlox moved away, Trip stepped to Malcolm's bedside. "Hey."

Malcolm looked up in shock and surprise. "Trip?"

"Yeah," Trip said, his smile falling away. "Are you okay?" His friend had gone pale, and he was clearly alarmed.

"You're dead," Malcolm finally said, eyes wide.

At this, Trip raised one eyebrow, ala T'Pol. "I'd told you that before."

Malcolm frowned. He tried to cross his arms across his chest, but was pulled up short by the IV.

"Careful," Trip said softly.

Malcolm let his arms fall to his sides. Then he wiped his free hand across his eyes. "I'd thought it was a dream," he said, his voice gone flat.

Now Trip had to smile. "Sorry."

Malcolm shifted nervously. "So what now, is this an hallucination?"

Trip shrugged, then he frowned, shaking his head. "Not unless we're both doing the hallucinating."

"So what is this, then?"

Trip shrugged again. "I don't know. A haunting?" Somehow, that didn't sound as funny aloud as it did in his head, and he winced. "Sorry."

"But you are dead, though. The captain told me -"

Trip held up a hand. "Yeah."

"Bloody hell," Malcolm said, looking defeated. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah," Trip said again. He turned and grabbed his usual chair and sank into it. Then he frowned and sat up straight. "No. Wait. Why -?"

Malcolm made a frantic gesture with his hand. "I should have -"

And Trip could see where this was going. "No," he said definitively. "Absolutely not. This was not your fault."

"But -"

"No," Trip said again. "No one could have." When he saw Malcolm was about to speak, he cut across him angrily. "Damn it, Chang was right there," he said sharply, emphasising the last two words. "There was no way you could have done anything different."

Phlox stepped in beside Trip, his smile gone. His all-too-perceptive gaze rested on Malcolm. "Who are you talking to, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm's frantic eyes met Phlox's. His hands flew as he explained. "No one. Sorry. I was -" His eyes met Trip's again.

Phlox frowned and looked where Trip was standing. "What are you seeing?" When Malcolm didn't respond, Phlox spoke more sharply. "Mr. Reed."

At this, Malcolm turned to the doctor. "Trip," Malcolm finally said, his voice shaking. "I see Trip."

Now it was Phlox's turn to raise an eyebrow.

x-x

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	4. Chapter 4

_Ah, reviews! (Rubs hands together) Lovely, lovely. Thank you to everyone who's commented so far. I love hearing from you._

x-x

Trip stood just outside the privacy curtain surrounding Malcolm's bed. Other than the soft light of the nightlights along the wall, sickbay was dark, and he knew it was very late from the sounds of the animals around them. He pulled aside the curtain carefully, trying not to disturb Malcolm should he be asleep.

Malcolm smiled wanly when he caught sight of him. "You know, they're never going to let me out of here."

"Sorry," Trip replied, sliding into his chair beside Malcolm's bed. "I know. But I keep ending up here." He returned Malcolm's slight grin. "You could always pretend you don't see me any more."

Malcolm sat up in bed. Crossing his legs on the mattress, he pulled the blanket over his lap. "It's all right. It's obvious the medications Phlox is trying aren't working."

"That's because I'm not a hallucination."

"Quite right," Malcolm replied. He cocked his head, a shade of amusement in his eyes. "Or so you say."

"So, how's all that going?" Trip asked, slouching in the chair and putting his feet up on the base of the bed.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. Lots of tests, and..." Malcolm winced slightly, "...the meds are making me a bit dopey, but all in all, not so bad." He threaded his fingers through his hair. "They won't let me back on duty."

"Yeah. I know." Trip's gaze locked with Malcolm's.

"I know they can't, but..." Letting his voice trail off, Malcolm shrugged and looked away.

Trip wasn't quite sure what to say, so he filled in with, "Have Hoshi and crew been visiting?"

"They have, but..." and here, Malcolm smiled strangely, "...I don't think they know quite what to do with me."

"I can imagine."

"I suppose it's because I seem perfectly normal, but they know that I'm..."

"What?" Trip asked, leaning forward in the chair. "Seeing ghosts?"

Malcolm quirked a smile that didn't light his eyes. "I was going to say 'mad', actually."

"I don't think you're nuts, Malcolm."

Malcolm bit the inside of his lip. "Right," he said, softly. He ran a hand through the back of his hair, rubbing his neck. "Then why am I the only one who sees you, then?"

Trip couldn't answer this, so he didn't try. After all, it probably had something to do with the reason why he was still here - in terms of not being in heaven or whatever - and still here - in term of being in sickbay with Malcolm in particular. He still had no answers to those questions.

After a few moments, Malcolm broke the silence with, "Aren't you worried?"

Trip frowned. "Worried? Worried about what?"

Malcolm waved a hand vaguely. "Well, perhaps 'worried' is the wrong word. Angry, or sad, or... I don't know." He rubbed his chin. "You're dead. And you're all right with that?"

Trip blinked. He hesitated, trying to find an answer that would make sense - not just to Malcolm, but also to himself. Finally he replied, "I don't actually know. I guess I haven't thought much about that part of it."

"That doesn't seem like you. I mean, your family..." Malcolm leaned forward. "You'd think..."

"I guess that is kind of weird." Trip said. If he really were dead, and somehow stuck here, haunting Malcolm, wouldn't he be sad, or angry, or something? He was normally well known for his emotionality, but it was almost as if, ever since he'd woken up in sickbay, he'd been feeling kind of... The best way he could find to describe the sensation was 'flat'. Not about everything - he could remember getting angry at Malcolm earlier - but about his own death. It was like it didn't matter. Like it wasn't all that important.

Maybe this was a natural part of being a ghost? Maybe, in order for a ghost to get whatever they needed to get done, done, they had to put aside the grief and angst they might naturally feel about their own death? Or maybe...

He sat straight in his chair. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way entirely. Maybe he wasn't dead at all?

Malcolm's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Where do you go when you're not here?"

Malcolm had obviously decided to let that last question go, and Trip found himself absurdly grateful. He smiled and relaxed into the chair, glad to be back on more comfortable ground. "It's like there is no 'in between'. I'm just here, then I'm here again, and time has passed."

"I think I understand," Malcolm said.

"What? The ghostly reappearance thing?" Trip said, trying to lighten the moment.

Malcolm barked a laugh. "No," he said, waving a hand, his IV long-gone. "The 'missing time' thing. At least, I believe I understand what it feels like." He shifted uncomfortably. "When I was caught. The Relakians - they were trying to get information about us, and..." He frowned and continued the rest in a more subdued tone. "They heard the blast and they panicked." He bunched the blanket up in a fist. "I'm not sure what happened from there. I simply woke up here." He paused. "Missing time."

Trip nodded and, staring into Malcolm's eyes, realised that he knew. He could see it like he'd been there. He watched the scenes play out, each one separate, like a movie that had been hastily edited. The explosion. One man backhanding Malcolm. Another pistol whipping him, gashing his cheek in the process. Someone struck out with his fist. Another raised a pistol. Malcolm's look of shock as he fell.

"If only I'd -

And in a rush, Trip could see what happened next. Malcolm, or some future Malcolm, lost and broken, the weight of this guilt and so much else pressing him down. Destroying what made him _him_. Leaving him lost. Alone, always alone...

But that wasn't it. Or it was in part, but it wasn't all of it.

Trip closed his eyes so he could better focus, and the scene came clear before him. Malcolm changing, losing confidence in himself. He'd start second-guessing himself, and one day it would blow up in his face. Malcolm, or someone he was with, would be killed.

That was the answer to Malcolm's earlier question about why he was there. It had to do with New Years, and new beginnings, and... God, it was just so clear. Why hadn't he realised it earlier?

No way would he let that happen. Not if he could help it. He just had to find a way.

Trip looked up at the sound of Malcolm's voice.

"I should have known -

Trip stood, his chair flying back and hitting the floor in a clatter. "You're always like this," he said. He stopped, surprised at his own venom. Malcolm looked up at him, clearly surprised and confused, and he felt a twinge of sympathy. But this was important, damn it. They'd talked about this before, back before the Xindi, but Malcolm had never _gotten_ it. Maybe Trip had been too nice. And if anger about this was the only emotion he could feel this strongly - if it took heat to get through to the man, then so be it.

Trip kept going, although he lowered his voice. "You act like everything's your fault. Hayes' death. The captain with that stupid Xindi weapon. Like it's all on your head. Like you're the only one to blame." Malcolm opened his mouth, but Trip ran right over him. "Sometimes, shit just happens, and you can't -" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "It's not healthy. It's gonna eat you up from inside, and someday you'll just -"

Malcolm blinked like he'd been blinded by the light.

Trip let out a breath and stepped close to Malcolm. "No one's to blame." Bending down slightly so that they were eye-to-eye, he leaned both palms on the bed and gave his friend a half-smile. "It's not your fault," he said in a quiet voice.

He knew it was time. Whatever was supposed to happen should happen now.

Trip clasped a firm hand to Malcolm's arm and stared into Malcolm's grey eyes. At first nothing seemed to happen, but then...

x-x

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	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you for all your comments. I love coming back here and seeing what everyone has written. _

x-x

... Then, he stared into Malcolm's grey eyes and time stretched to eternity. He couldn't look away, couldn't move, couldn't feel.

A voice came from forever away. "Commander?"

The world rushed in, time sped up, and the voice came close in a whoosh, "Commander?" and it hurt. God, it hurt. Trip gasped and closed his eyes, opening them to a soft greyness, shading to blue in the corners of his vision. His eyes shut again of their own accord, and louder now, "Mr. Tucker. Can you hear me?"

Trip opened his eyes in panic, hands flailing as he tried to sit up. Phlox seemed to hover above him, the grey of the sickbay ceiling framing his concerned face. The doctor flashed a light into his eyes, and he winced and tried to push it away, his breath catching in his throat. Phlox cast a pointed glance to someone nearby and Trip felt himself being restrained. There was a soft pressure, then a prick against his upper arm.

Phlox's voice flowed past, a series of questions that Trip let pass him by. Head falling to the side, he saw Malcolm in a bed across the room. The man was intubated and hooked to a respirator, a mass of bandages rising out of his chest, tubing flowing into and out of...

Trip looked away. "What happened to him?" he asked, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. His throat hurt like he'd swallowed glass. No, like when he'd had strep as a kid. That summer had really sucked...

Phlox's voice brought him back to the present. "He was injured on a mission."

Trip nodded slightly and felt restraining hands leaving his body. "When?" he asked, confused. He'd only just been talking to Malcolm. They were... The memory slid away. Perplexed, Trip frowned and raised a hand to his forehead, only to wince at the tug of the IV. "He was shot," he murmured, not entirely sure how he knew. He looked back to Phlox.

Phlox nodded. "He was," he responded, mildly surprised. "He'll recover, with time," he added, answering Trip's unasked question. He started with the light again, but this time, Trip didn't flinch away or struggle. "Do you remember what happened?"

Trip thought a moment as Phlox bustled over him. It was like the memories were slipping away even as he tried to grasp for them. In the end, he shook his head slightly.

"You were on a mission to Relakia. There was an explosion, and you were trapped under some rubble. They brought you here as soon as they got you out."

"How long?" Trip managed.

The doctor smiled when he realised what Trip meant. "Not long. You were only unconscious for a day."

A day? Trip thought in amazement. But it had been at least... He frowned, unsure. And he'd been... His stomach dropped and the words came out before he could stop them. "I died."

Phlox paused a moment, the scanning device hanging suspended in his hand. "You were severely injured," he said with unusual seriousness. "But we were able to bring you back in the end, hmm?"

How was all this possible? Trip thought. It had been days... months since... Since... Since what?

"The Captain and Corporal Chang are fine," Phlox said, but Trip realised that he already knew that. Just like he'd known about Malcolm being shot. Just like he knew that he'd been dead. But... He flexed his fingers, blinking rapidly. He didn't feel dead. Not like before. Not like...

The memories slid through his grasp, and Trip muttered a muffled swear. He winced and let his eyes slide shut.

Lowering the lights, the doctor slipped a button under Trip's hand. "Press if you need additional pain relief," he said softly.

As the doctor moved away, Trip heard one of the medics murmur a soft "Happy New Year."

Trip's eyes flashed open. That was it. The New Year. Something about Malcolm, and... The room spun around him, vertigo hitting him hard and sweeping memories away in its path.

Ah, fuck it, Trip thought, giving up the fight to remember. Giving in to his pain, he pressed the button and let the world slide away.

x-x

Trip sat by Malcolm's bedside. He was dressed in scrubs, in pain, and still feeling shaky, but Phlox had said that he'd heal better if he was up and about. So, hand wrapped around the IV pole beside him, he was sitting there in the semi-darkness.

Malcolm looked a bit better. There was less equipment, anyway - the ventilator was gone, which was definitely a good sign, and there were maybe a few less monitors and devices. But he was still unconscious, and Trip knew that wasn't necessarily good.

He was supposed to do something here, something involving Malcolm. Something that, for the life of him, he couldn't remember. He tapped his fingernails against the pole, the sound almost lost in between the beeps of the monitors, the soft rustles of the animals, and the shuffling of the medics as they worked nearby.

There was something, though. Something important. He bit his lip in frustration. There was a reason why he'd been brought back, because he was still sure that he'd been dead. Or at least, he thought he had been. He decided not to think too hard on that.

He tapped the pole again. Whatever it was, he'd figure it out. He had to.

x-x

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	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you for reading this. This is the final chapter. _

x-x

Trip heard voices nearby. Careful of his IV even half-asleep, he rolled over and pulled the blanket up over his ears. He was just settling back into sleep when he heard a distinctive voice rasp, "Are they all right?"

Trip snapped to wakefulness. Pushing himself to sitting, he stared at the privacy curtain that had been drawn around Malcolm's bed. It fluttered as people moved behind it.

He'd thought he'd heard Malcolm's voice, but there was now too much noise for him to really hear what was going on. His foot tapped a nervous staccato against the base of the bed. God, he hoped Malcolm would be okay. His stomach clenched. He'd hate to think...

"I'm an idiot," Trip said, his voice a near whisper. Malcolm could have died before they had a chance to repair the mess he'd made of their friendship. Phlox said he was past the worst of it, but just to think...

He kept casting glances at the clock on the wall. The minutes ticked by, each an eternity. After a good fifteen had passed, he lay back down on the bed, his head pillowed on his free hand. Then he clasped his hands on his chest. Then he rolled onto his side, facing Malcolm's bed. Eventually, he closed his eyes.

He jumped a bit when Phlox finally came through the curtain, pushing some sort of device ahead of him. He'd definitely fallen asleep there for - he glanced at the clock - Shit. Three hours. Damn. He rubbed a hand across his face as if wiping away his tiredness.

When the doctor saw Trip lying there, he smiled and said, "You can go and see him if you'd like."

Trip slid down from the bed, moving cautiously, although he knew that his smile was probably as broad as the doctor's. "I'd like."

Dragging the IV pole behind him, Trip stepped to the curtain and pulled it slightly open. He didn't want to wake Malcolm if he were sleeping or...

Trip's brows shot up in surprise, and he smiled. Malcolm was sitting there, semi-reclined, the head of the bed raised. He was actually reading something off a padd. And he looked good - surprisingly good. A bit tired, certainly, but most of the monitors were gone. Other than the bandages and a few bruises, he really did look all right. Clearing his throat, he stepped past the curtain.

Malcolm caught sight of Trip and his eyes lit up, although the words coming out of his mouth were in his normal formal tone. "Commander."

"Off duty, remember?" Trip answered. He glanced down at himself in scrubs, then back up to Malcolm. "Way off."

"Trip," Malcolm said, correcting himself. "How are you feeling?"

"I'd like to ask you the same question," Trip parried gently.

Malcolm shrugged as he put the padd down on the bed beside him. "I'm feeling all right, all things considered. Although I had the strangest dreams."

Trip smiled. "Yeah." He settled into his usual chair and sat there a moment, his smile falling away. Something about all this seemed so familiar. Sure, Malcolm and he had both spent enough time in sickbay for serious déjà vu, but that was not it.

Malcolm's voice disturbed his reverie. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "I was just trying to remember..." He let his voice fade off, because he really wasn't one-hundred-percent sure what he was trying to remember.

"How long was I unconscious?"

Trip glanced at calendar on the wall. "A few days. You missed New Year's."

"That's all right. I've never been much of one for that holiday, anyway."

"Yeah, I kind of wanted to talk to you about that." Trip shifted in the chair. "I think I was brought back for a purpose."

"Brought back?" Malcolm asked, brow creasing into a frown.

Trip waved that away, not wanting to go into it. It wasn't the point, anyway. He had an idea. "You ever make resolutions, Malcolm?"

"Not really. I don't believe in them."

Trip thought on that. To him, making resolutions had always implied optimism. It said that you felt as if you were in control of your own life and direction. That you were not a victim of fate, or circumstance, or luck. That there was hope for the future. It was like you were setting goals for yourself. You could learn French, or ask someone for a date, or even combat your own personality traits and make - or try to make - life better. Resolutions implied a desire for happiness and a better future.

He leaned forward in his chair. "I'd like you to do me a favor, then. Make a resolution." At Malcolm's look of doubt, he smiled. "For me."

Trip knew that Malcolm was a man of his word. If Malcolm said he'd do something, he'd do everything in his power to try, even if he was just doing it to humor him. "No matter what happens in the future - resolve to try, at least to try, not to blame yourself." Malcolm looked confused, and Trip could see him trying to figure all this out. He went on, his voice gentle. "Things are not always your fault, even if you think they are, or should be. Sometimes they just aren't. And you have this tendency to..." He shook his head, leaving the rest unsaid.

He lowered his gaze and saw several small bruises on Malcolm's arm. They almost looked like fingerprints. Trip settled his own hand there, and it fit precisely. He looked up to see Malcolm staring at his hand. After a moment, he met Trip's eyes. Then he nodded.

"Good," Trip said, knowing this was the best he could expect. At least it was a start.

As Malcolm smiled uncertainly, Trip made to move his hand away, but instead he froze and huffed a small laugh. He remembered touching Malcolm, and how that touch had brought him back here. He wondered if he really had been dead, and was now back, job done. Or if he was dead now, still dead, and just dreaming all this. To check, he pinched Malcolm's arm.

Malcolm jumped and slapped his hand away. "What was that for?"

"Just seeing if I was dreaming."

Malcolm rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You're supposed to pinch yourself," he said, emphasising that last word. He rubbed his arm.

"Yeah, well," Trip said sheepishly. He could feel the blush heating his cheeks. "I figured..." He shrugged and tried to keep a straight face. "It seemed more fun this way."

Malcolm appraised him frankly. "You, sir, are an arsehole."

"Yes, true," Trip replied. He looked up through his lashes, batting them flirtatiously. "But I'm _your _asshole."

"Oh, for..." Malcolm groaned, then burst out laughing.

Trip crossed his arms across his chest, leaned back in his chair, and smiled.

x-x

_Please review and let me know what you thought of this story. Thank you._


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